


Chase the Hurt

by winterwaters



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - After College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Bellamy as a war vet, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff, Grief/Mourning, House-sitting, Of course there's fluff, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-War, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt, and a puppy, not a lot but enough
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 10:25:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3443714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwaters/pseuds/winterwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Modern AU: When Clarke agreed to apartment-sit for Octavia one weekend and brought her dog along, the last thing she expected was a drunk Bellamy Blake at the door at 3a.m. </p><p>Inspired by a Tumblr prompt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chase the Hurt

**Author's Note:**

  * For [agentrromanoff](https://archiveofourown.org/users/agentrromanoff/gifts).



> woo! that ep was a doozy. my feels are still reeling - in an awesome way, of course.  
> So this plot bunny was inspired by the following Tumblr prompt: "you tried getting into my apartment thinking it was your friend's house and I should call the cops but my cat likes you so we're good"
> 
> Obviously I changed a ton of that haha, but as usual it's because the story got away from me XD what can I say, I was really inspired. Hope you like it! :)

Clarke woke up in the darkness to an insistent pounding on the door accompanied by her dog’s alarmed barking. “Milo, quiet,” she ordered automatically.

Disentangling herself from the blankets on the couch, she dug around in her bag for her small knife as the knocking continued, rattling the door. Milo barked again, already sniffing beneath the doorframe to where a shadow blocked the light from the hallway.

“Come on, O, I know you’re in there,” came a deep voice.

A deep, drunk, oh-so-familiar voice.

Clarke rolled her eyes, foregoing the knife. She knew exactly who that was. Marching through the kitchen, she pulled Milo back with a clipped warning. Then she yanked the front door open without a second thought. Bellamy had been leaning so heavily on it he nearly fell inside. As it was, he landed on top of her, his face just about eye-level with her chest. She staggered backwards with the force of his weight, her hands immediately clutching his sides to keep them both upright.

To his credit, he popped up immediately, dark eyebrows scrunching together. “Princess?”

Clarke shot him a glare, letting go to tug futilely at the straps of her tank top. “A very pissed off princess.” She shut the door behind him, glancing at the kitchen clock. “Bellamy, it’s 2:43 a.m! What the hell are you doing?”

“I thought O was home,” he muttered sullenly. 

Clarke folded her arms. “And _that’s_ how you treat your sister?”

“Whatever. Where’s Octavia?”

His dismissal only made her more angry. “What the hell, Bellamy! You can’t just barge in like you own the place and expect everyone to instantly cater to you.” 

Bellamy whirled around, his own temper rising. “Took you about three seconds to start in with the judgment, princess,” he said harshly. There was an edge to his voice that would have warned most people away. His dark eyes glowered as he suddenly crowded her against the fridge. “But this time you don’t know what you’re fucking talking about.”

She didn’t take well to his attempt at intimidation, however impressive it was. Rising on her tiptoes, she brought her face inches from his. “Then maybe you should add the words _please_ and _thank you_ to your vocabulary.”

They glared at each other, neither willing to budge. Just as she was truly registering the anguish in his eyes, Milo barked loudly.

Both their heads swiveled in the direction of her dog, who sat in the living room, his tail happily thumping against the floor. Clarke sighed, grinding her teeth. “Milo,” she began, but to her surprise, Bellamy’s face lit up and he pushed away from her. 

“Hey buddy,” he plopped down on the floor and scratched behind Milo’s ear - his favorite spot. “Look how big you’re getting. Princess is taking good care of you, huh?”

Clarke nearly got whiplash from the rapid change in Bellamy’s demeanor. Suddenly there was no hint of the distress that threatened to consume him just moments ago, and the misery in his eyes was well-hidden once more. Uncertainly, she took a step forward, watching him give Milo a belly rub with one massive hand. He was speaking in soft murmurs, the occasional “yeah, buddy, I know,” and “good boy” reaching her ears and making her relax slightly.

She sat down on the dog’s other side, curling her legs under her. Milo’s mouth hung open in a dopey dog grin as he looked up at her. She reached out to tickle his chin, glancing at Bellamy. “When was the last time you saw him?”

“Last month, I think. When O and I crashed at your place after that Halloween party?” He grinned, taking years off his face.

“Oh god, that’s right. That was a hot mess of a night.”

“Well, you’re right about the hot part.” Bellamy wiggled his eyebrows and she shoved him, blushing to her toes. Damn her pale skin - which was currently on display almost as much as it had been that night. “I mean it,” he said. “I’ll never look at Wonder Woman the same way again.” 

_Damn Raven and her brilliant, naughty mind._

“I hate you,” she replied. He laughed warmly, making her stomach all weird and fluttery. 

Go figure, she thought wryly. Any moment in Bellamy’s company was guaranteed to be a rollercoaster, though the number of ups and downs depended on the day. Tonight she felt like she was about to go through several loop-de-loops.

“Did I ever tell you we had a dog back at the rehab center?” Bellamy said suddenly. When she shook her head, he continued on, still playing with Milo. “His name was Jamie. He was a black lab, a lot bigger than your Milo, but just as kind and playful. They brought him in for us during therapy sometimes, just to hang out.” 

His other hand had drifted to his chest, unconsciously tracing the dog tags under his shirt. “Somehow he always knew just what we needed. He was the best.”

Clarke smiled at the fondness in his voice. He didn’t often speak of his time in rehabilitation, though because of Octavia she knew better than most what he’d gone through after coming back from the war two years ago with swelling in his brain, a permanent limp in his left leg - in exchange for not losing it altogether - and a lifetime’s worth of PTSD. 

Still, hearing him talk about it was a whole different experience. She started when he waved a hand in front of her face. “Earth to Clarke.”

“Sorry,” she said sheepishly. “What’s up?”

“I asked how you came to be in my sister’s apartment at 3 a.m. on a Saturday.”

“Oh. Well. Last time she went away, Jasper and Monty nearly wrecked the place with their Cinco de Mayo fiesta. So I agreed to hang around here this weekend while she meets Lincoln’s parents in Virginia.” _Plus, I needed an excuse not to visit mom this weekend._

“Shit, that’s right.” Bellamy raked a hand through his hair. “I totally forgot. I’d better text her good luck.”

“You should,” she agreed. “She’s really nervous, even though I told her not to be. It’s impossible not to love her.” He smiled at that, like the proud big brother he was. Then he let out a huge yawn and Clarke couldn’t help her own tiny smile, rolling her eyes. 

“Come on.” She stood and held out a hand. “You can take the bed.”

“No way. I’m not letting you sleep on the couch. I do have _some_ manners, you know.”

“Could have fooled me,” she replied dryly.

Bellamy grinned and took her hand, sending a tingle up her arm. She let go as soon as he was on his feet. “Come on, princess. We’re both adults. We can share.”

“Uh-uh. Don’t even try that smile on me, Bellamy Blake.” 

“What smile?”

“You know exactly which one.” She pointed to the bedroom. But after a full minute in which he didn’t move an inch, she dropped her arm, feeling foolish. His expression had changed again, back to that haunted, awful thing from before as he looked everywhere but at her. It made her want to run away and hold him close at the same time. When uncertainty flickered in his eyes, Clarke chose the latter.

Stepping closer, she lightly touched his arm. “Bellamy,” she said softly, willing him to meet her gaze. When he finally did, she saw the truth for a brief second - he didn’t want to be alone tonight. And the last thing he wanted to do was sleep.

She didn’t know what kind of demons he was dealing with, but she knew enough about hurting to know that she wouldn’t let him fight them alone. 

“You know,” she said abruptly, “I’m starving. You must be too, judging by your stinky breath.” She made a face and pretended to hold her nose. “And since you woke me up, I think it’s only fair you make me some of your famous pancakes.”

Relief washed over his face. “Is there bacon?” He asked hopefully.

“There’s always bacon.” She grinned and turned to the kitchen, hearing him follow. As they slowly gathered the ingredients, Clarke grabbed her iPod and set it up on a small dock, connecting it to the speakers and starting one of her playlists. The music softly filtered into the air and she relaxed a little more. 

At Bellamy’s questioning poke, she looked up. “Why’s he just sitting there?”

“Hmm?” She followed his gaze to Milo, who sat right at the edge of the living room, tail happily wagging away as he looked up at them. “Oh. He’s not allowed in the kitchen.” 

“Ouch. Tough love, huh?”

She shrugged. “He’s too nosy for his own good. And then he always gets sick and scares me half to death, so…yeah.”

Bellamy nudged her gently. “You take good care of him.” 

The words warmed her heart, and she smiled in thanks. They moved around the small kitchen with ease, Clarke tugging on his shirt to make him step back and his hand resting on the small of her back as he leaned around her. It was oddly easy, and even more strange, very domestic of them - _the two least domestic people in the world,_ she thought wryly. 

Her skin was warm everywhere Bellamy touched her - elbow, forearm, shoulder, even her waist at one point. His body simply radiated heat. She had no idea if he was doing it on purpose, but she didn’t think so. Mostly, he seemed just as content as she felt, and she gladly noted that the sadness had retreated from his eyes.

When the first bars of a familiar song came on her shuffle, Clarke reached over and turned up the volume, humming and swaying in time to the music as she moved around. She was bouncing on her toes, ducking under Bellamy’s arm to get to the fridge while he stood barefoot at the stove. 

“ _I’ll never know what made it so exciting,_ ” she sang softly. “ _Why all at once, my heart took flight…_ ”

When she turned, Bellamy was staring at her with a small smile on his face. She flushed belatedly, tucking hair behind her ear. “I was kind of obsessed with My Fair Lady when I was younger. My dad was the one at home, usually, so he got stuck watching it with me,” she explained shyly. “Now it just reminds me of him.”

Bellamy nodded in understanding. “How long as it been?”

It took a second for her throat to unclog. “About three years,” she said, ducking her head to compose herself. Not for the first time, she was grateful for the long hair that was currently shielding part of her face. Then Bellamy’s large hand settled over hers where it gripped the edge of the counter. He didn’t say anything, just left his hand there, offering silent support.

She was grateful for it. Where most people would try to fill the silence unnecessarily, he somehow knew when words wouldn’t do.

They stayed like that until the last chords of the song trailed off, followed - of course - by a silly, loud jazzy number. Bellamy’s fingers tightened over hers, and Clarke just _knew_ even before she looked up that he would be smirking.

“No, no, no, Bell-”

“Oh yes, yes, yes, princess!” He tugged her towards him, beginning to sing along horribly off-key and causing Milo to join in with his own howl. Clarke snorted even as she tried to clamp a hand over his mouth.

“Sshh, the neighbors, stop-”

Bellamy continued singing - if it could be called that - while his other arm slid around her waist, anchoring her close before they twisted in a circle. Clarke squeaked and hung onto him, laughing as they danced in the small kitchen.

“Where did you learn to dance?” She asked curiously.

He grinned. “Who do you think O practiced with all those years?” 

An image of a wild, younger Octavia dragging her brother around the room sent Clarke into another bout of giggles as they twirled around. “Oh god,” she gasped, “please tell me there’s video of that.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.” Bellamy grinned and let her go, only to spin her back into his hold. By the time the song came to an end, Clarke’s sides ached from laughing so hard. She laid her cheek against his chest for a second longer, catching her breath.

“That was fun,” she sighed. “Thanks, Bell. I needed that.”

“Me too,” he replied quietly. 

She lifted her head to find him staring down at her softly, making her feel completely laid bare. Even though they’d stopped dancing, he hadn’t let go, and now she was just standing in his arms, oddly content. 

Just as she was stretching to her tiptoes, the fire alarm went off. Milo began to bark again.

“Shit!” Clarke grabbed a towel, running over to where the smoke detector was beeping wildly. Milo began circling her. “Hush, Milo,” she hopped up and down, waving the towel while Bellamy hurried to switch off the stove and turn on the fan.

When the noise stopped a minute later, Clarke sighed in relief. “Don’t get too cocky,” Bellamy warned with a grin. “That thing is picky as shit. It’ll start back up before you even take a step.”

“Then you do it,” she complained. “I’m too short. My arms hurt.”

“Do you want my pancakes or not?” 

Clarke sighed and lifted the towel again, hearing him chuckle behind her. As she waved it back and forth, a rush of cool air hit her back. She belatedly realized her shirt had ridden up a lot with all the jumping. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught Bellamy’s eyes just as they flitted away from what was decidedly _not_ her face. 

Her mouth dropped open. “You sneaky liar!” He ducked just as the towel flew over his head. “You said that just to ogle me,” she accused. Though, if she was being honest, it wasn’t like she minded all that much.

Bellamy shrugged, not saying a thing, though the hint of a smile appeared on his face. Clarke poked his side as she passed by. “Admit it, you were totally checking me out.”

“You mean the way you were checking me out at Halloween?”

Damn him and his perfect memory. Despite her vivid blush, she lifted her chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A devastating grin split his face. “You’re an awful liar, princess.”

“Shut up. You were a freaking gladiator! _Everyone_ was looking at you. Which I’m sure you loved,” she huffed and looked away, crossing her arms. But when she didn’t receive the expected cocky reply, she peeked up through her lashes.

A shadow had come over his face and his smile had faded, his eyes refusing to meet hers. Clarke’s irritation vanished without a second thought. All she could see was how he was drawing back into himself, back to that place where no one could follow.

Or maybe it was just that no one had ever tried.

He was intently staring at the pan in front of him as if it held all the answers. She reached out and hooked a finger around his belt loop, giving a light tug. “Bellamy. Hey,” she whispered.

“I only did that so people would stop talking about my leg. Or the war,” he said roughly, still not looking up. “Everywhere I go, it’s _‘you boys did great’_ or _‘at least you’re all in one piece’_ or some other kind of bullshit, and I just wanted it to _stop_ for one night.”

The weariness that he usually kept so bottled up was seeping through his features. Impulsively, Clarke looped her arm through his, laying her head on his shoulder. Her fingers trailed over the shadow of a scar that stretched over his elbow, hearing his soft intake of breath before he leaned into her touch.

“Well,” she said eventually, “it definitely worked. I had about six girls ask me if you were taken. Apparently I’m your keeper these days.”

She peeked up to see a corner of his mouth curl ever so slightly. “What did you tell them?”

Shrugging, she leaned over to snag a few chocolate chips he’d found in the cabinets. “I referred them to Octavia. There was no point if they couldn’t pass her inspection.”

Another tiny flicker of his mouth. “Lucky for me I’ve got you two on the lookout.”

“Damn straight,” Clarke answered, and now he did chuckle.

When it became clear he needed both arms again, Clarke let go so he could finish the pancakes. She grabbed the bacon from the fridge and set it on another pan, feeling her mouth begin to water as the smell filled the kitchen.

“Well hello good sir, can I help you?” Bellamy said pleasantly, and she looked over to see Milo rubbing up against Bellamy’s leg, eyes wide open with longing. 

“Milo, out,” Clarke ordered. He turned and looked at her with that same pleading expression, but she wasn’t having it. “Out, sweetie. Now.”

Bellamy laughed as the dog shuffled away, stopping as soon as he was in the living room and flopping on the floor, tail still wagging hopefully.

“I’m trying to get him to stop begging,” she explained, heaping bacon on two plates. “But it doesn’t help when everyone else is like _‘oh, it’s okay, we’ll keep it a secret from mommy’_ and feeds him behind my back. I have a heart attack every time he throws up.”

She jumped when Bellamy’s hand landed between her shoulder blades, rubbing comforting circles on her bare skin. “Ease up, Clarke. With a mom as great as you, he’ll be just fine.” Clarke looked up in surprise, her cheeks coloring as she stammered out a thanks. He smiled, unaware of how off balance she suddenly felt. “So, how many pancakes?”

“Uh… two. Two’s fine.”

“Seriously?” He cocked an eyebrow. “You did not make me slave over this for _two_ measly pancakes.” 

“Oh, please. That was _not_ slaving, you love making pancakes. What’s with that, anyways?”

Bellamy chuckled. “My mom used to make them when I was little. That was our thing on Sundays - it was the only day she wasn’t at work by the time I woke up. So we’d make pancakes together and watch the news.”

“Only _you_ would watch the news as a kid.” Clarke grinned up at him.

He tweaked her nose. “You’re eating more than two,” was all he said.

To his immense satisfaction, she did. As she set her second full plate down on the counter opposite him, he grinned around a mouthful. “Yeah, yeah,” she hopped onto her stool and shook syrup over them eagerly. Taking a bite, she let out a small blissful moan. “These should be illegal.”

“I’ll have to get that in writing one of these days.” 

She only hummed, digging into her food with gusto. Milo circled both their chairs, eagerly awaiting someone to drop a bite of food. Clarke had long stopped shaking her fork in protest, especially when she saw how Bellamy seemed to light up around him. He kept leaning down to scratch his ear or murmur something quiet. She was pretty sure he’d even snuck him a taste of syrup, but, for once, she decided maybe Milo had earned it.

When she was done eating, she sighed happily and put down her fork, licking the remnants of syrup from her fingertips. Looking up, she found Bellamy gazing at her with a soft smile. Clarke gulped, suddenly praying she didn’t have food stuck in her teeth - or worse, in her cleavage. 

Then Bellamy leaned across the counter, curled a hand around her neck, and kissed her. 

All thoughts flew from her head, her world narrowing to the feel of his mouth on hers, more soft and gentle than it had any right to be. His tongue snuck out to lick maple syrup from her lips and she sighed, allowing him entrance. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that for an hour,” he said when they pulled apart.

Clarke stared back, her lips tingling. “Then why’d you stop?”

Bellamy smiled, a slow and wonderful thing that made her heart race. He slid off his stool and rounded the counter, coming to stand between her legs. His hands rested lightly over her thin pajama pants, drawing soft circles above her knee as he just _looked_ at her. 

When she couldn’t stand it any longer, Clarke reached out and wound her arms around his back, pulling him as close as possible. It was as if he was waiting for her to do just that, because then his hands slid up to cradle her face and he was kissing her again.

She lost herself in it, cataloguing his every reaction as she traced the outline of muscle through his shirt and threaded her hands through his hair. When her nails raked his scalp, he groaned softly, so she did it again. His tongue slipped past her parted lips, eagerly tasting every corner of her mouth and smiling when her legs squeezed his hips. 

Clarke’s hands crawled under his shirt, determined to get it off him entirely until her fingers pressed against the cool metal of his dog tags. Feeling him tense up, she drew back to look at him. Bellamy’s eyes were cloudy with desire, but underneath that there was a desperation that made her clutch his shirt and drag him down until their faces were inches apart.

“Bellamy, tell me you’re not doing this to distract yourself.” Her voice was about half as stern as she’d have liked, and far too breathless, but she kept her grip. “I won’t be a momentary thought. I mean it. Tell me you really want me.”

“Clarke,” he rasped, “of course I want you. I always want you.”

Even though the words stoked a fire inside her, she made herself wait. Gently, she brushed back the curls at his forehead. “Then tell me what’s wrong. What is it that’s been following you all night?”

He looked at her for so long she was afraid he would just decide it wasn’t worth it and back off. But then he shuddered deeply and dropped his face to her shoulder, his arms wrapped loosely around her waist. Clarke traced soothing patterns on his back until he spoke. “It’s not just tonight. It follows me every moment. Some days are just worse than others.” He paused. “Me and my guys were on a routine patrol when we hit the IED. Ben was on his last tour. Fifteen days before he could come home to his wife. It was Chris’ first op. He only joined so that they’d pay for college when he was done.” His laugh was a bitter, hollow sound. “A lot of good that’ll do now.” 

Clarke squeezed him tightly, trying to wrap her body entirely around his, offering some kind of comfort in the only way she could. And also trying to convey how thankful she was that he had escaped such a fate. As selfish a thought as that was, it didn't make it any less true.

“Anyways," Bellamy continued roughly, "it’s Chris’ birthday today. He would have been 24. Me and a few of the guys met up and just started drinking. One for Chris, one for Ben, then one for Ben’s wife, another for Chris’ parents… you get the picture. And then, after, I didn’t want to go home. So I came to see O.” 

And he’d found her instead. Clarke felt like she should apologize, even though she didn’t quite know why. But she just kissed his cheek softly and held him close, feeling his breathing slow where his face was buried into the crook of her neck. “Thank you for telling me,” she whispered.

“Thank you for asking.”

A few minutes later, Bellamy began to shake in her arms. Clarke pulled back in concern only to see his lips turned up in a grin. 

“I think we embarrassed Milo.” He nodded behind her, and she twisted to follow his line of sight. Her dog was currently curled in a corner of the room, facing the wall. Clarke laughed with him, tucking her face into his chest and feeling his chin come to rest atop her hair. She snuggled closer, hearing his contented sigh. 

Eventually he began placing soft kisses to her hair, drifting down over her forehead, her eyelids, all over her cheeks, before his mouth found hers. It was kind and unhurried, a wordless thanks. He pulled back too soon, his thumb tracing the outline of her lips.

“I’m not using you. I wouldn’t do that, Clarke.” He swallowed. “I just… I need…” 

"I know.” She nudged him back a little so she could hop off the stool. Then she took his hand and lead him to the couch, pulling him to sit beside her. “Just one thing,” she murmured right before he kissed her again, “I’m not sleeping with you in your sister’s apartment.”

His soft laugh vibrated against her mouth. “Right back at you.”

The rest of the night was spent learning about each other. When they weren’t kissing or teasing or (in Bellamy’s case) tickling, Bellamy told her about each of the guys in his unit. Those who had come back with him, and those who hadn’t. In return Clarke told him more about her father and his love of art, the constant fights with her mother that were beginning to take their toll, and showed him the sketch she’d been working on before she fell asleep earlier.

Eventually they were both yawning in earnest, and Clarke pulled the blankets over them as they lay on the couch, limbs tangled in the best way. Sensing Bellamy’s hesitation, she kissed him gently. “I’m right here,” she promised. “You can close your eyes.”

With a small sigh, he enfolded her in his arms and did just that. Clarke waited until his breathing evened out before letting her own eyes drift shut, hearing his steady heartbeat under her ear.

~~~~~~~~~

That was how Octavia found them a few hours later, having returned from her trip a day early. 

As Milo jumped delightedly at her feet, she stood above them with raised eyebrows as they attempted to untangle from one another with much stammering and blushing. Then Bellamy let out a short laugh and gave in, essentially dragging Clarke into his lap as he sat up. He pressed a soft kiss to her shoulder and looped his arms around her, directing a grin at his sister.

Octavia’s eyes were glimmering in amusement when Clarke finally lifted her head, though they softened once she turned to Bellamy. “I didn’t realize what day it was until I saw your missed calls,” she said. “I’m sorry. I came back as soon as I could.”

“It’s okay,” Bellamy reached out to grasp her hand for a moment. “Sorry to ruin your weekend like that.”

“Are you kidding? You gave me an out. Lincoln’s mom is such a hardass. Not that I’m surprised, but still.” Her eyes drifted to Clarke, turning sly. “So… what exactly is this?”

“This…” Clarke looked at Bellamy, whose eyes were suddenly unreadable. He was letting her decide, she realized. After all this, the idiot would still let her choose, even though she was curled into a literal ball in his lap. She smiled, and brushed her nose against his. “This is good.”

His face brightened immediately and he let out a small breath he’d been holding. Carefully, he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah,” he agreed. “It is.” 

At Octavia’s insistence, Clarke was treated to another round of Bellamy’s pancakes. The three of them sat together the rest of the day, talking and reminiscing. Octavia regaled them with her many, many anecdotes of meeting the parents.

“Wow. You guys were busy,” Clarke said.

Octavia shrugged. “A lot can happen in a day, I guess.”

Clarke smiled at Bellamy, thinking back over the past few hours. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”


End file.
